


smoke break

by Vault_of_Glass



Series: Kinktober 2018 [5]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, Smoking, drugs cw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 15:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16200140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vault_of_Glass/pseuds/Vault_of_Glass
Summary: Day 5: Shotgunning





	smoke break

River slips out before the sun and takes a part of them with her when she leaves. MacCready wakes to empty space and a note in her delicate script:

_MM emergency up at Tenpines. I’ll be back before you know it. Love you - Riv_

The truck stop is quiet without her. No love songs hummed under her breath, no laughter at his bad jokes; he can hardly remember the last time he went without the constant comfort of her company. Not lonely, just… quiet.

MacCready watches the ceiling fan spin above him, scattering smoke when he exhales. River’s lipstick marks the filter like a signature; he runs his thumb over the violet stain before he passes it back over.

Hancock lets the filter hang between his ruined lips. He twirls his blade in the other hand, and MacCready finds himself watching the spin of blade and hilt through his fingers, up and back down, swift around his thumb, second-nature motions just to fill his hands. Smoke leaks between his teeth, and when he catches MacCready staring, he grins sidelong at him.

The buzz hangs dull behind his eyes, warm and hazy with each hit he takes and holds deep in his lungs. He relaxes down to every muscle, until it feels like he’s grown roots into the couch beneath him. The joint ends up in his hands again somehow, so he takes another hit and squints against the burn when it seeps past his throat.

“She worries too much,” Hancock mutters, taking the joint back when he offers it. “Woulda woken up early and gone with her.”

MacCready’s only half listening. His eyes follow Hancock’s hands as he holds the joint between index and thumb and takes a long, slow drag of smoke. He fills his lungs, his chest expands, and something like anticipation settles in MacCready’s gut. A thrill for what comes next.

He realizes he’s waiting for Hancock to kiss him.

Hancock seems to realize it, too. A lazy smirk tilts his mouth as he catches the hilt of his blade in his hand and sinks it point-down into the coffee table. “Somethin’ on your mind?”

“Yeah,” MacCready says, before he can really think about his response. His vision clings to the curve of that smirk, the one he’s seen so many times before, leaving love bites in the pale of River’s skin - between her thighs when she begs for his mouth. “I just, uh… “ He clears his throat, still searing dully from the pass of smoke. “River usually… when we smoke…”

Recognition forms in pitch-dark eyes. “Ohhh, I see,” he rasps, and chuckles under his breath. Without another word, he takes another hefty pull of smoke and lets it rest behind his teeth. A mottled hand grips MacCready by the shirt and hauls him closer, and then Hancock is slanting rough lips over his, and smoke passes between them, curling out between his lips. MacCready takes and takes from him until his lungs are full of sticky-sweet smoke and only Hancock’s tongue remains, rolling lazily against his own.

His cheeks and ears feel hot when they part. He feels every point of contact between them in vivid clarity, shared body heat that spreads between their brushing thighs, from Hancock’s hand to the small of his back when he leans closer.

This time, MacCready pulls him in. Scarred fingers cradle his face by the jaw, holding him steady as Hancock parts his lips and licks another furl of smoke into his mouth. He’s rougher than River, teeth and hungry tongue, reaching up to clutch him by the back of the neck. Their knees slot together, and Hancock hums against him, catching his lip between blunt teeth. The brief sting makes his breath catch in his throat. He drops his palm to Hancock’s thigh, kneading fingers at the muscles there as his grip trails higher.

Hancock laughs again, rougher, raspier. His mouth hunts down MacCready’s neck, exploring with the flat of his tongue and nipping when MacCready arches against him. Hancock braces a hand against his sternum and pushes, pinning him onto his back and crawling over him, that impish smirk still firmly in place.

“You are so fuckin’ cute,” he chuckles, inching his shirt up to graze lips along his waist.

MacCready squirms beneath him, the touch just short of tickling. “I am - not cute,” he groans, too breathy to properly form the complaint.

“Sure, sure.” Hancock slides his hand down until he finds the thick press of MacCready’s cock, straining against his pants. There’s a click as he works his belt loose, then the _tik-tik-tik_ of his zipper, and a rough hand slipping past his briefs to grip around him. MacCready’s head falls back against the couch with a hiss of relief.

Hancock sucks at his hip bones, and his stomach, and lower, slowly lower, flicking his tongue teasingly across the head of his cock. MacCready gasps and jerks against him, clutching at tattered couch cushions with trembling fists. He can vaguely hear Hancock rumble something like _fuckin’ adorable_ before the ghoul draws him deep into his mouth.

“Shit -” MacCready pants, hips flexing. Hancock keeps one hand splayed firmly against his stomach as he works his mouth lower and lower around him. His tongue roams curiously up the length of his cock, as if feeling him out, and MacCready can do little more than shudder under his attention.

When he hits the back of Hancock’s throat, the ghoul takes him deeper with no hesitation. Through the haze of his high, MacCready’s brain tries to parse the sensations apart: hot breath and wet tongue and so much  _pressure_ , suction, tightness that drives up from his cock to the pit of his gut, where it twists and builds and threatens to tear him apart.

“Hancock - fuck -” He barely grits the curse out through clenched teeth, trying to stop his hips from bucking, but a warm hand wraps encouragingly around the back of his thigh. Bitten nails curl against his skin, digging in with blunt dull pain, the taste of smoke still heavy on his tongue. The hand on his stomach sinks to wrap around the base of his cock, squeezing down until he throbs into that skillful grip. Hancock’s thumb rolls circles down his thighs, to the sensitive skin between them, and MacCready feels his muscles all tense up with need.

“Cl-close,” he gasps.

Hancock only doubles down. Tighter with lips and tongue and the grip at his thigh as he sucks and swallows around the tip of his cock. His fingers release their hold at the base of his cock, and everything unleashes like a flood-gate lifted, every muscle clenching as climax washes over him. MacCready whines and pumps his hips through the high, biting teeth into his knuckles as Hancock swallows him smoothly down. His heartbeat crashes in his chest, fingers numb from gripping at the cushions as the blinding rush subsides and leaves him limp across the couch.

Grinning, Hancock finally lets him up, resting a supportive hand on his shoulder. “Still with me?” he asks, amusement threaded rich through the rasp of his voice.

“Yeah,” MacCready sighs, and it feels like the weight of the world leaves him with that one heavy breath. “Yeah, definitely.”

Hancock retrieves the joint from River’s ashtray and plants it between his lips, patting his pockets down for a light.

MacCready’s hands are shaking when he pulls his lighter from his back pocket. Hancock leans in to let him light it, the flame dancing reflected in black eyes, smirking around the joint as he takes the first hit.

“Sooo,” he says, smoke curling from between his lips as he draws the word out. “That what you were talkin’ about? When you smoke with Riv…”

MacCready rubs at the back of his neck with a breathless laugh. “Something like that.”

“Hell of a woman,” Hancock remarks fondly, and they laugh together in the stillness of the room, passing the joint and letting their fingers brush. 

Quiet without River, but not lonely.


End file.
